


Hip-Hop Dance Jam 2: The Reckoning

by SHACKLEFORD



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:18:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHACKLEFORD/pseuds/SHACKLEFORD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Hotchner takes a secret break, and finds Spencer Reid taking one too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hip-Hop Dance Jam 2: The Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in several years...a bit nervous, but excited to be back in the game. 100% unbeta-ed. Feedback and suggestions are welcome :)

“It’s called yoga.”

Hotchner snapped out of his temporary paralysis, and  _what the hell_ : Dr. Reid was contorted in front of him on the roof of the FBI, decked out in an explosion of yellow, teal, and pink lycra, finished off with a pair of bright red shorts that could hardly be called  _shorts_.

“…an ancient physical, mental, spiritual practice dating back to the sixth century, that focused on different techniques to control the body and mind,” Reid inhaled and closed his eyes, before extending his legs and placing his hands on the ground, exhaled, his back facing Hotch. “It traveled across religions and countries, became and still is a highly popular exercise routine in the western world, although yoga is not necessarily about the physical. It’s more spiritual, mental. Westerners have the tendency to appropriate things beyond the point of recognition.”

Hotch still couldn’t figure out how to breathe properly. He had come up here for a rare quiet moment, an opportunity he seized whenever the entire office had been lulled into a slow, sleepy state, which was almost never. He noted that this happened more frequently on Fridays, but there had been a brief period where Thursday became a trend.

Today, the bullpen slowed to a near stop around 2:30. He waited an hour, still nothing. He poked his head out of his door, and found his agents hunched over their desks engaged in activities that were nowhere near work related. Reid was missing, but Garcia had emerged from her cave to sit in his empty chair and spin around while staring at the ceiling. Her appearance signaled to Hotchner that he needed to act quickly, so he spun around to his desk, pulled out a few objects from the drawers, and practically ran towards the stairs to the rooftop.

Reid shifted positions with a slow breath. He dipped down and curved his spine, while extending his legs upwards towards the sky.  _Beautiful day,_ Hotch thought, still staring at the scrap of red that now swung down revealing the bottom of Spencer’s ass…no, his subordinates buttocks, which  _you shouldn’t be staring at_! “What are you doing here?” he finally croaked.

Reid huffed in exasperation, his eyes closed, still holding his position. “Yoga, the ancient physical, mental, spiritual practice-”

“Please remember that I am your supervisor,” Hotch snapped back. Reid popped open an eye with a small smirk, exhaled, and grasped his ankles, thrusting his chest forward. The motion caused the gaudy leotard to tighten almost painfully around Reid’s chest, threatening to tear, and before Hotchner could even stop himself he wondered how much effort it would take to snap that piece of fabric right off.

“Sorry,  _sir_ ,” Reid said softly. “You just don’t seem to be paying attention to what I’m saying.”

Slowly, Reid exhaled and folded his legs at the knee, pushing his ankles to his ass. “This little suit isn’t mine by the way,” he murmured. “I left my work yoga outfit at home; Penelope was kind enough to loan me her Hip-Hop Dance Jam outfit.”

“’Hip-Hop Dance Jam’?”

“Some bizarre combination of cardio, strength, and dance training.” Reid let go of his ankles and moved to sit on the ground with his legs outstretched in front of him. “She took me to it once, but it was far too loud. She is quite good though; you should ask her to moonwalk for you.”

“Hm.”

“My home yoga outfit is typically nothing,” Reid said.

Hotchner’s eyes grew wide and he turned away from his subordinate. “That’s highly inappropriate,” he ground out.

“This conversation or the nudity?”

Hotch held in a groan, gripped the stone rooftop ledge. To his left, he heard Reid shuffling about on the ground and getting into a new position. _Screw it_ , he thought, reaching into his pants pocket and removing a pack of cigarettes.

“Interesting.”

Hotchner lit the cigarette and inhaled, allowing the smoke to fill the empty spaces in his mouth, and closing his eyes. The sticky nicotine worked its way through his veins, crawling down to the tips of his toes and back up to his scalp. It had been three days since his last cigarette.

“What brand do you prefer?”

Hotchner had almost forgotten that Dr. Reid was still there with him, folded up and dusty from rolling around on the ground. “Lucky Strike.”

“Now  _that_  isn’t surprising in the least,” Reid laughed.

“How so?”

Reid shifted his body once more, and this time Hotchner thought he was actually going to die of shock. He watched as Reid propped himself up on his right knee, shifting his left to a ninety degree angle; he then pushed himself off the ground with his hands, chest thrusting towards the sky. Those damn shorts practically fluttered in the breeze and, _I’m going to die. This is the end._ _Am I blushing_?

“American classic,” Reid said, eyes closed with a dazed smile on his face, drinking in the sunlight. “If you were going to do something negative to your health in an effort to ease your anxiety, you would find a way to justify doing so. The easiest thing with smoking is that it is part of our history as a country. To you, it’s borderline patriotic.”

“What makes you think I’m a patriot?”

Reid snorted a laugh. “You are at least subconsciously.” He inhaled and switched legs. “You grew up with a strict moral code, more than likely in a religious household, if not at least influenced by some sort of religion.”

“Catholic,” Hotchner exhaled in a cloud of smoke.

“Not surprising.”

“Does anything surprise you?”

Reid smiled and sat back down on the ground, legs folded tightly against him.

“You’re not continuing?”

“It’s not a free show, Aaron.”

The use of his first name sent his heart into unexpected overdrive, and he puffed on the cigarette furiously trying to regain control.

“Besides your upbringing,” Reid continued, “you work for the FBI. Did you know that is a part of the American government?”

Hotchner still hadn’t managed to tighten his nerves and remained silent, staring out into the parking lot below, wondering if he could safely jump down from this height and run home. He heard Reid standing up, shuffling across the rooftop once more, moving to stand next to him. He could smell Reid’s sweat. He clenched the ledge with bruising force.

“Knowing how you were raised,” Reid continued, voice soft and low, “you would either allow yourself to fall into a pit of despair, or you would align yourself with something incredibly noble and self-sacrificing. Given your unrelenting dedication to your past romantic relationships, your mother, your son, it would only make sense that you chose the latter. However, to ease the anxiety this self-sacrificing brings whether or not you choose to admit its presence, you tend to gravitate towards anything that punishes or could bring about destruction.”  

Reid placed a hand on top of Hotchner’s clenched one. “A true American.”

Hotchner could only stand there. Reid’s skin radiated the sun’s warmth. Hotch wanted to tell him to back off, to remember his position, and to return to his desk, but more than anything he wondered what Reid’s fingers tasted like.

“What stresses you out, Aaron?” Reid murmured, his fingers stroking the tops of Hotchner’s knuckles, feather light. “Does this trigger you?”

Hotchner shook his head. The cigarette still burned, ashes sprinkling to the ground below.

“Tell me. How do you feel?”

“Fucking terrified.” The expletive surprised him; it felt utterly foreign on his lips, but it was the complete, honest truth.

“Why?” Reid’s fingers moved to his wrist, holding, stroking the bone with his thumb.

“Jack. Haley. My father. My mother.” Hotchner took a shaky breath.  _What is happening to me_? “This job. The nightmares. My team. The way you’re stroking my wrist.”

“Do you like it?”

“The stress? No.”

“Aaron…”

He closed his eyes and inhaled. Reid’s hand moved from his wrist up to his forearm; he squeezed gently, murmured, “you’re warm. Tell me.”

“I like it.” Hotchner whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” Reid’s fingers were toying with his arm hairs, tugging at the tight roll of his shirtsleeves. “Tell me.”

Hotchner shook his head, eyes tightly shut. “I can’t.”

“It’s just us, Aaron.” His hand moved up to Hotchner’s shoulder and his fingers grazed his earlobe. Hotchner wanted to scream, wanted Reid to do something with those hands besides torture him with the softest touches. “Tell me. Tell me how you feel.”

Reid tugged on his earlobe and he came undone. “I feel terrified. I feel like one day I will die and Jack will have no one. I feel myself turning into my father as some nights I only want to come home so I can sit and drink in the dark. I feel like I will always be alone, but that is how it should be. I feel like you’re setting my skin on fire, but I don’t want you to stop.”

Spencer tugged harder, and Aaron moaned, the noise taking him by surprise. The cigarette fell to the ground unfinished, and Spencer grabbed Aaron by the hair and pulled him close. “How did you feel when you saw me?” he whispered.

“More aroused than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.”

“Yes,” Spencer moaned. He sucked Aaron’s earlobe into his mouth. “Why?”

“I’ve always wondered,” Aaron whimpered. “Some days you smell like cinnamon, others rosewater and patchouli. One day I found myself wondering what you taste like.”

The grip in his hair tightened; Aaron could feel Spencer’s breath coming in hot waves on his neck. “When?”

“When we came back from Rhode Island,” Aaron muttered, embarrassed. “You’d never tried salt water taffy, so I bought you a bag. I watched you eat it. I watched you lick your fingers clean.”

“Blueberry,” Spencer whispered. “My favorite.” He kissed Aaron’s neck, smiled against the skin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Oh god,” Aaron moaned as Spencer’s hand moved to pinch his nipple through his shirt. “Yes. Yes I did.”

“Tell me how.” Spencer twisted his fingers; Aaron arched upwards into his touch and shook his head no.

“Tell me how, or this all stops.”

“Please-don’t-stop,” Aaron whispered.

“Then, tell me,” Spencer said, moving his fingers towards Aaron’s other nipple and flicking it sending shockwaves down his spine.

“I touched myself.”

Spencer whimpered and pushed himself against Aaron. “God, yes. How? What did you think about?”

“You,” Aaron said, the images instantly coming to his mind. “Standing in front of me, putting your fingers in my mouth, replacing them with your cock, fucking my mouth and making me gag.”

Spencer moaned loudly and his hands scrambled underneath Hotchner’s shirt, nails digging into his skin. He ground himself against Aaron’s ass and the two men lost themselves for a moment in the feeling of being pressed so tightly together. “Then, you fucked me. You grabbed me by my hair, bent me over, and fucked me until I couldn’t stand.”

“God, Aaron,” Spencer whispered. “Come here.”

Aaron turned and Spencer drew him in close. His blonde hair tickled Aaron’s cheeks, his breath hot on his lips. “Do you still want me to do those things to you?”

Aaron shyly nodded. “No,” Spencer said more forcefully. “Tell me. Do you want me to do those things to you?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Aaron groaned in frustration. “Please what?! Please fuck my mouth? Please make me come? Please let me touch your cock because that’s all I’ve been able to think about. Please –“

Spencer silenced him with a finger to Aaron's lips. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Good.”

The two pulled away breathless, searching; Aaron felt his moral code turning to dust. Spencer whispered, “this way,” and tugged him towards the opposite side of the rooftop. The afternoon sun was beginning to set, and the hazy orange glow lit up Spencer’s face like a halo. Suddenly Spencer’s hands were in his pockets, wrapping around the crumpled cigarette pack, and holding it out in front of Aaron. He pointed to the ground below them.

“Down there is the dumpster,” Spencer said, grasping Aaron’s hand and placing the pack in his palm. “I have a strict ‘no smoking’ policy.”

Aaron clutched the pack to his chest; the thought of tossing away years of addiction sent his mind into hyper drive. He knew he could easily pick up another on the way home; there was a small gas station that carried his brand, and Jack always went to sleep pretty early, so he could sneak a few smokes along with a glass (or two) of a good old fashioned which should sustain him until the morning and…

“Aaron?” Spencer was waving his hand in front of his face. “Are you lost?”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I…can’t we work something out? I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Spencer took in a breath and folded his arms across his chest, casting his gaze towards the ground. “You want to punish yourself? Fine. But there’s a way, multiple ways actually, to do so without causing irreparable damage to your body and mind. For example, I could punish you.”

Aaron gasped so loudly he started to cough. “Excuse me?!”

Spencer looked up at him and in the blink of an eye closed the distance between them. Aaron’s body reacted almost instinctively, his nerves thrumming beneath his skin, his hair standing on end at the slightest whiff of Spencer’s sweat. He felt Spencer’s fingers brush at his temples, down his jaw line, tracing his chin, grazing across his lip, leaving him breathless and tingling.

“If you don’t quit smoking for at least two weeks, I won’t kiss you.”

Aaron blinked. “What?”

A hand was on his face again, tugging and pinching at his lower lip, then the tip of a finger slid into his mouth and traced a line of spit down his chin. “I won’t kiss you.”

“Please,” Aaron gasped out. “Please, you have to.”

The hand was back on his face and a calloused thumb was teasing his lower lip. “I will give you something else though, but only if you throw those cigarettes away.”

Aaron frantically nodded and crushed the pack in his hand. An almost evil grin flashed across Spencer’s face. “So easy,” he murmured. “So good.” He stretched out a hand and Aaron grabbed it, allowing himself to be pulled closer to the edge of the building. He looked down and saw several dumpsters. “All you have to do is toss it,” Spencer whispered against his ear sending chills shooting down his spine.

Aaron nodded once more, and held out the cigarettes in front of him. He always knew he would quit one day, but he always thought it would be with a nicotine patch and not with his subordinate turning him into a blubbering mess. He tipped open the pack and watched as the crumpled cigarettes tumbled to the ground below. Spencer’s arms had wound their way around his chest and his hands gripped Aaron’s shoulders tightly, pressing them close together. “Congratulations,” he whispered.

Without warning, Aaron was bent over the rooftop ledge, a hand firmly anchored in his hair, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He vaguely registered that— _fuck_ — Reid was already hard and mumbling nonsense into his neck. His body shuddered with need, drawing a groan from Reid’s lips. “So, so,  _so_  good,” Reid murmured. The hand in Hotch’s hair pulled him back, a pair of lips attacked his neck, sucking and biting the delicate skin, and the arm around his waist unlocked and moved away. He whined at the loss of contact, but his whine quickly turned into a low, shuddering moan as Reid moved his hand towards his ass.

Spencer sighed and kissed over the tiny bruises he made on Aaron’s skin. “Never did I think…,” he slapped Aaron’s ass and grinned when he gasped. “My own boss. I wonder how tight you feel.”

“Oh, god,” Aaron moaned. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Please what, Aaron?” Spencer whispered, the vowels breathless on his tongue. “You need me to fuck you already?” His hand grabbed Aaron’s ass, slapped it again, rubbed the spot through his pants. “Tell me.”

“Please,” Aaron gasped, pushing back against Spencer.

“Tell me.”

Aaron wanted to scream. Wasn’t this enough? Didn’t he already embarrassingly declare just how fucking turned on he was? He was practically dry humping a block of concrete while his coworkers and subordinates and supervisors were finishing up their paperwork, talking around the water cooler, eating their mid-afternoon snacks, but then Spencer’s hand was pressing, his thumb slipping between his ass cheeks, pressing against that spot, “oh  _fuck_ ,” Aaron whispered, shutting his eyes.

Another slap shocked him back to consciousness, and a furious whisper said, “tell me or we stop now.”

“Fuck, alright,” Aaron moaned. “I need you.”

“You need me to what?” Spencer said. “You have to tell me.”

“I need you…,” Aaron felt the words stick in his throat, “I need you…”

“Tell me what you need,” Spencer whispered. “Don’t be shy, Aaron. Don’t you want to be good for me?”

“Oh, god,” Aaron gasped, and then he broke. “I need you to fuck me. I want you to come inside me. I want you to fuck my mouth, and tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Spencer whispered furiously, the hand on his ass tightening deliciously.

“I’ve always wondered,” Aaron murmured, a furious blush spreading across his face, “what your come tastes like.”

Spencer stilled against him in an attempt to process the flood of visuals entering his mind: Aaron Hotchner bent over his desk and begging Reid to fuck him. Aaron Hotchner with his cock in his mouth, eyes wide and lips swollen. Aaron Hotchner, Aaron  _fucking_  Hotchner, naked in his bed, that ass spread for him,  _oh god,_ Spencer was salivating at the thought.

“Am I good?” Aaron whispered.

Spencer smiled against his back. “Yes.” Then two fingers invaded Aaron’s mouth, while that teasing hand pressed harder against Aaron’s ass. Aaron gasped, moaned, and gagged all at once, savoring the feel of Reid’s rough skin against his tongue. He could taste salt and dirt with a faint hint of Reid’s soap. He barely registered Reid’s throaty gasps, the murmurs of praise as that hand moved closer, finally brushing at Aaron’s asshole through the fabric of his pants.

He moaned around Reid’s fingers as the finger on his ass gently pressed, retreated, and pressed again. He pushed back against it and felt Reid chuckling behind him. “So desperate,” Spencer whispered. The finger became more insistent, harder, until Aaron was convinced he would face an early death if Spencer didn’t fuck him into oblivion. Then the fingers in his mouth started to move in rhythm to the finger on his ass, and  _he was going to fucking die_  if he didn’t come. Reid picked up the pace, his breath coming now in rough, uneven gasps, and he pressed himself against Hotchner’s hip desperate for some kind of friction, when suddenly…

“Spencer?”

The familiar voice cut through the tension and fog like a goddamn battle-ax, and Hotchner was beyond furious.

“Shit, what is she doing—,” Reid turned, eyes searching for the source of the noise. He grabbed Hotchner’s discarded suit jacket off the ground, and held it in front of his crotch. Hotchner could only stand there, hands white knuckling the concrete ledge, and try to regain consciousness.

“Spence!” Penelope Garcia finally appeared decked out in a bright blue sweat suit, and electric yellow sneakers. She paused when she saw Hotchner bent over the ledge. “Is he alright?”

Hotchner grunted and shrugged, refusing to turn and meet Penelope’s searching gaze. “He’ll be fine,” Spencer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Did you uh…need something?”

“Hip-Hop Dance Jam 2!” Penelope cried, thrusting her arms into the air, then in a dark, low voice, “ _The Reckoning_.” When Spencer stared at her, clueless, she sighed, “you forgot, huh?”

Spencer nodded. “I guess so. I’m sorry. Got caught up with Hotch here.” 

Penelope gazed at him thoughtfully as if she was putting together the confusing pieces of the puzzle. Her eyes went wide at a passing thought, but she dismissed it with a large grin. “That’s okay, little buddy. I understand. You’re more of a mellow fellow anyways.”

“You could say Dance Jam isn’t my jam,” Spencer said with a sly grin that made Penelope smack him on the forearm. “But, no, I promised. I’ll go.”

“Great!” Penelope clapped her hands together. “Hotch, you wanna?”

Aaron was still, somehow, impossibly hard despite running through his mental cold shower list. Instead of his grandmother’s crooked feet, all he could think about were Spencer’s feet, and he would lick them if Spencer asked, and the thought of Spencer making him lick his feet only made him harder and Hotchner never even thought about feet sexually before…

“Hotch?” He felt Spencer’s hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, not trusting his brain to form work appropriate words. “I think that’s a no.”

Garcia laughed and said, “of course. Maybe next time. Spence, meet me at my car?”

“Sure thing, Penelope.”

When they heard the rooftop door slam shut, Spencer leaned over to Aaron and kissed his earlobe. “I’m sorry.”

Aaron shook his head. “No…don’t ever apologize.”

“And why’s that, huh?” Spencer sucked at the spot he marked on Aaron’s neck.

Aaron sighed softly and murmured, “because you’re going to make up for it this weekend.”

“Is that so?” Spencer grinned. “Want me to wear this outfit so you can finally rip it off me? Maybe I’ll even give in and kiss you.”

“Thank you,” Aaron said with a small smile.

“Oh, fuck it,” Spencer said, before framing Hotchner’s face between his hands and bringing him in for a furious kiss. Aaron whined against his lips, grabbing at Spencer’s hair, his shoulders, before finally settling and allowing Spencer to suck on his bottom lip, to invade his mouth with his tongue.

When Aaron was released, he could hardly move. His body was humming again, and Spencer just stood there in that stupid, endlessly appealing unitard with a shit-eating grin on his face. His lungs no longer clenched with the need for nicotine. _Hell_ , he thought as the two grasped hands and made their way back to the rest of the world, _maybe I’ll try yoga_.


End file.
